


Deceiving Appearances (2003)

by 7PercentSolution



Series: Got My Eye on You [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Case Fic, Drug Use, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-24
Updated: 2015-10-23
Packaged: 2018-04-27 18:49:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5059984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/7PercentSolution/pseuds/7PercentSolution
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After breaking the Pountney Club, Lestrade's career takes off. It takes a while before his path crosses Sherlock's again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

"Damn, damn, damn!" Lestrade grabbed the airwave radio from his pocket. "Sally, I need you here NOW! Robson's down!"

The DI laid the radio on the ground and bent over the form of Constable Robson. The PC was grasping his side in pain, but still conscious. "Sorry, Guv- I just didn't see him until it was too late. Didn't realise he had a knife. And now he's got away, after all this. Shit….I've made such a bodge of this. I'm sorry."

"Be quiet, Robson, Just lie still. It's nobody's fault. Nobody knew what he looked like, so how were you to know? Just lie still, will you? "He picked up the radio again, out through a call for ambulance services."Did you get a good look at him?"

"Yeah, just get him in a line out, Guv, and I'll be able to identify him for sure."

"Well, that's good news; at least we can ID him now." The DI's team had been tracking this murder suspect for days. He'd been involved with a drug smuggling scam, and killed his partner in a squabble over the cash. But, he was good at hiding- he'd been on the run for a week already. So far, the team had no name and no face to put with it, only a telephoned tip from an unknown informant that "your guy" was in the old office block in the abandoned industrial estate. Lestrade had sealed the whole area. High fences with razor wire limited the escape routes. They'd made sure there were no breaches in the perimeter, and the DI quietly put two cars at the only way out, through the front gate.

It wasn't supposed to be risky. Then one of the buildings they thought was empty produced a running figure, who had swiped a knife on the constable who tried to catch him, before bolting off into another building. Greg kept his handkerchief pressed to the knife wound on the PC's side and waited for back-up.

Sally came bursting through the back door, took the scene in and knelt down alongside the DI. "Is he OK?"

"He's going to be, just give us your scarf and hold it onto the knife wound; keep pressure on it 'til the medics get here. Then go with him to the hospital. Once you're there, call his wife, will you?" She nodded.

Greg stood up, bringing the radio to his mouth. "Clarke and Williams- either of you see any sign of the suspect coming your way?"

The crackled replies from the constables at the front gate were negative, which meant one thing- that the suspect was still inside the wire fence and might yet be caught. He ordered the two men to keep vigilant as the team of twelve would now go through the rest of the buildings on the abandoned industrial park.

The first three buildings were pretty much wrecked- glass windows broken, cold, wet and very empty. Lestrade heard the ambulance arrive during their search of the second building; it left when they were half way through the third. When that too came up empty, he reassembled the team. With five more buildings to go, he decided that they needed to split up, lest their investigation take the rest of the night.

So it was that he and PC Jones headed into the single story building between the two larger blocks. No sooner had they crossed the threshold when Lestrade realised that something was different about this one- it was warmer. The windows weren't all broken- just a few. He stopped and called quietly on the radio for back-up. "Go around the back, Jones; I think we might get lucky here. And call in the rest of the team."

He moved quietly through the first set of double doors. His torch revealed a lot of footprints in the dust, so he hurriedly switched it off, lest the light give his presence away. He let his eyes adjust to the gloom before moving on. He then heard a quiet murmur of voices, and stopped again. In the dark, he realised that there was a flickering light coming from the larger room at the end of the corridor. He decided to wait for back-up. When two of his PCs came through the same doors as he had, he gestured to them to be silent, and to join him. The three men then moved swiftly down the corridor. Lestrade went in first, shouting, "POLICE! Get your hands up where we can see them."

The scene that greeted him was a surprise. There must have been twenty people in the large room; some standing, some sitting, others lying on mattresses. There was a distinctive odour in the room- a strange mix of unwashed bodies, the unmistakable aroma of marijuana, the sharp tang of crack cocaine being smoked. It was a drug den, with dealing and use going on in the dim light of a number of small stoves and fires.

For a split second, no one moved. Then it was chaos, with people running, some pushing up windows to get out, others trying to bolt out the back door. They didn't get far, as the police outside caught them and pulled them away to be cuffed. Lestrade and his two PCs had their hands full with grabbing and cuffing everyone they could lay a hand on in the dim light.

Lestrade's instructions were simple- round up the whole lot, arrest them, take them down to the station. He was certain that the murder suspect would be amongst them. Photos would be taken and then shown to Robson, when he was sufficiently recovered to make the ID. If he was lucky, this night's work would not only capture a murderer, but also help put a bunch of dealers and their junkie customers off the streets for a while. Not his division, but it always helped when other areas of the Force benefitted.

oOo

They'd arrested 19 people, most of whom were in various states of drug intoxication. Fingerprints and mug shots were taken, routine medical exams done, and initial statements given to constables.

After an hour of the organised chaos of processing so many suspects, DI Lestrade was tired and on edge- too much caffeine and not enough sleep were playing havoc with his nerves. One of the suspects was his murderer, but with Robson unconscious following surgery at the hospital, he had no way to make a quick ID. He sighed and drank his third coffee; he was going to have to do this the hard way. He needed to try to narrow down the suspects before the lawyers got to work and bail procedures got underway. It would be a race against the clock.

He went down to the main holding cells to take a look at the suspects. The first six were a rough bunch- less intoxicated, if at all, according to the doctor who had given them an initial examination. Older men, instinct told him these were more likely to be the dealers. Of course, any one of them could have been the murderer, but without Robson there to identify who stabbed him, it was anyone's guess which one.

"What about the others?" he asked Sally. She'd returned from the hospital as soon as Robson's wife had arrived.

"The usual suspects, Guv: junkies, homeless, low life- hard to tell which is which. Some crackheads, some high on bennies; a few on heroin. It must have been like a bloody drug supermarket in there."

"Line them up and I'll take a look. If we can eliminate some of them for the murder, then that will narrow our list of suspects down, while we've waiting for Robson."

The first seven were as Sally described-junkies looking worse for wear. Florescent lighting was always so harsh- it showed every bit of grey pallor, dark circles under their eyes, underfed, unwashed and grubby.  _God, if they only knew how pathetic they all look!_  Drugs drove Greg mad- such a waste of young lives, and such a reservoir of criminal activity. He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. Looking at these six, he doubted that the murderer could be among them- they all looked shit scared. A man who had led the police on a merry chase after murdering his partner in cold blood wasn't likely to be too bothered about a simple drugs bust.

"Ok, Sally, push this sad lot back into the cells and bring in the next."

Lestrade took another couple of swigs from the coffee, and then looked at the six new suspects as they shuffled in. And found his attention immediately drawn to the third one in, a tall, dark haired young man who, unlike the others, had a look of utter boredom on his face.

"Bloody hell, that's Sherlock Holmes".

"Pardon, sir?" Sally looked at him quizzically.

"You don't know him, Donovan- before your time with me. He's the third one from the left of that line-up. Put him on his own in an interrogation room. I'll need to get his statement before that bloody brother of his shows up."


	2. Chapter 2

Before he went into the interrogation room, Lestrade took a look at the sheet. Sherlock had given a false name; oddly enough, it was Lars Sigurson, the same one that he had used on his fake UCL ID when he was seventeen. The doctor's medical examination had indicated cocaine usage might be an issue from the track marks, but he didn't seem to be high at the moment. In any case, the police request for a blood sample had been declined, as was his right. He had not had any drugs on his person when arrested. He'd declined legal representation and made no phone call since arriving at the station.

Lestrade took in two cups of black coffee. When he sat down, he pushed the other one toward Sherlock. "I assume you don't take milk now, any more than you did fifteen months ago. What have you been up to in the interval?" The question was delivered casually.

"What, apart from being bored and indulging my taste for cocaine?" This was delivered in a slightly offhand manner by the young man who was sitting relaxed, with one leg bent over the other knee. He took the coffee and had a deep pull at it. "I don't suppose you have a cigarette on you?"

"Gave it up last year; you were right that time at Montague Street- the wife's been on about me stopping for years. Of course, even if I did have one to offer, you can't smoke indoors these days, don't you know?"

"So a police station qualifies as a public place, does it?"

"Yeah, a bit like a bus station." Lestrade was now eyeing the younger man carefully.  _Thin, too thin; I would not have thought he had any excess weight to lose since I last saw him._

"So, did you catch the murder suspect?"

Greg nearly choked on his coffee. Once he'd recovered his breath from coughing, he wheezed out, "What do you know about that?”

Sherlock smirked. “More than you do, if you’re still trying line ups.”

Once again, just like fifteen months ago, the penny finally dropped. “I suppose it was you then who called in the anonymous tip?"

Sherlock just widened his smirk.

Lestrade stifled an impulse to thank him. Instead, he asked cautiously, "You know what he looks like then?"

Here Sherlock's left eyebrow lifted. "So that means you really don't?" He made no effort to hide his incredulity.

"Nope. Well, I say that, but when Robson regains consciousness after being stitched up for the knife wound that the suspect gave him on his way past, then he'll be able to ID him."

"Robson was the PC on the back door, then? Don't bet on the suspect still being around to be identified when your man wakes up. His lawyer will have him sprung soon."

"Christ, Sherlock! Did you see him stab my PC?"

"Yes, of course." He looked a little puzzled at the DI. "But, it wasn't with intent to kill; he just wanted to slow him up. If he wanted to kill your man, he could have very easily, but he didn't."

"What the hell were you doing there?"

"I was the lookout; isn't that obvious?"

Greg just looked askance at the tall brunet. "No, it isn't obvious, not in the slightest."

Sherlock looked bemused. "Then why else do you think that no one at the place realised that an ambulance had come and gone, or that your men were crawling all over the place? I knew he was coming tonight, so called you and left the tip. I saw him bolt into the first building with your lot hot on his tail. While all that was going on, who do you think made sure that the rest of the guys at the back of my building didn't know anything about what was going on? The suspect bolted out the doorway from your building and went straight past me- he knew the set up well enough to use the word he needed to gain entrance, so I didn't stop him. Figured you would show up sooner or later and get him. After all, even  _you_  would have been smart enough to seal off any exit apart from the front gates."

"Well, thanks for that little vote of confidence. I am obliged for your help."

"So you should be, Detective Inspector."

"You made that call that even though you knew you'd be caught up in the arrests?"

"Well," here the lanky youth gave a cynical smile, "it seemed my civic duty, given what a mess you had made of the enquiry for the previous week. You people never do your homework on cases like these; just jump to the first predictable conclusion and don't see anything else. You think you understand this guy's motive, so call it murder when it's clear you haven't got a clue. It wasn't even murder- more a case of aggravated assault turned to accidental manslaughter."

The tall brunet pushed back in his chair and crossed his arms in front of this chest. "I got tired of waiting for you to put the pieces together so did something myself. Tonight I talked my way in through some contacts of mine and made myself useful by volunteering for lookout duty. When I knew the suspect was likely to show, I made the call to you. There was little risk to me from the police; you've got nothing to hold me on. I've declined a drugs test; you can't get me on possession. Of course, on my way out, I could do you the favour of identifying the guy…if you'd like me to, that is."

Lestrade just looked at those grey green eyes, and then he realised that Sherlock was amused. He looked down at the coffee in front of him, took a sip quietly, and started smiling. "Yeah, why don't you do that? You're enjoying this, aren't you?"

The young man's smile crept out and broadened, "Yes, actually, I am; this is the most fun I've had since…I don't know, maybe fifteen months ago when the Pountney Club case kept us both occupied. That's why I set this little exercise up, so you could catch him. I meant what I said back then, Detective Inspector Lestrade; you need me. We need to find a way to make this work."

Greg laughed out loud. "Yes, I do need you for this case, but, unfortunately, the Met doesn't work with junkies, not unless they are informants- and that's another division. You'd have to work with the drugs squad, not homicide."

Sherlock sniffed. "Boring."

"If it's so boring, why do you do drugs then?"

The smile faded a bit. "Nothing better to do, I guess."

Lestrade just looked at him. "That's one of the stupidest excuses I've ever heard."

Sherlock scowled at him. "You have no idea, detective inspector, and it is irrelevant to this discussion. You know I can be counted on for giving you information useful to your job, so let's just cut the sanctimonious stuff and get back to the case at hand." He took a deep breath and gave Lestrade a smile.

"What does your brother make of it?"

The smile disappeared instantly. "Just leave him out of it."

"I wish I could. But, somehow I get the feeling that his security clearance is a lot higher than mine. And his interest in your future is probably just as strong as it was when he first dragged you out of the station seven and a half years ago. I presume he knew that you were working with us on the Poutney Club cases?"

"We're not on speaking terms, not now and not then. And, if you don't mind, I'd like to get out of here before the nosey git gets informed about my whereabouts now, and decides to make himself a nuisance to us both. I'll ID your suspect and tell you how to get him to confess in exchange for letting me go within the next twenty minutes."

Now it was Greg's turn to smile. "Is it really that simple?"

"Yes, so let's get a move on, Detective Inspector."

And Sherlock delivered as he promised. He took one look at the holding cell with the older men, and just laughed. "Really, are you all so utterly predictable? I thought that profiling according to stereotypes was something out of the ark, but seems you lot are still doing it."

He glanced at the clock on the wall at the end of the hall and grimaced. "I _really_ don't have time for this if I'm to vacate before my brother catches wind of this. Your suspect wasn't in my line-out, so I assume you've got the other seven in a holding cell somewhere. Pick out the ginger-haired geeky one and pop him in an interrogation room. His name is Rafe Stevens. Your medical examination should have picked up a bandaged forearm where his partner managed to fight back with the guy's own knife. You should fire your forensics team by the way- simple enough to have noticed that fact that there were  _two_  sources of blood at the so called murder scene, and that the man killed had wounded his killer. Rafe's not the brightest candle in the box, by the way, still using the same knife on your PC, so you can make the forensic connection as yet another piece to secure a conviction. He ditched the knife- probably on his way out the window when you busted into the room. Check it out in daylight- look for it hidden in one of the open sash windows along the left wall. That's where he was likely to have been."

This puzzled Lestrade. "Actually, that raises an interesting point; if you were the look-out, then presumably you weren't in the room. So, where were you? And how can you know where he stashed the weapon?"

"I was at the door, let him in through it, spotted you coming over five minutes later, and hid while you and the other two PCs made enough noise to wake the dead. Luckily for you, that back room where they were was far enough away and the primus stoves and the oil barrel fire make enough racket, fortunately, that they didn't hear you coming. And I don't need to be in a room to know where the murderer would go- he smuggles cocaine, so he headed over to the two who were dealing, on the left side of the room by the back wall. Deduction tells me where he'd hide the weapon."

Lestrade tried not to look too impressed. "OK, how are we going to get this guy to confess? At the moment, it's your word against his, and if he toughs us out, he'll get released, because the sheet says he has no previous record, isn't under the influence, nor was he carrying any drugs, so we're going to have to release him according to his brief, who showed up here a half hour ago."

The tall brunet just smiled. "Oh, that's a piece of cake, Detective Inspector. Here's what you should do…"

oOo

And, once again, Sherlock was right, even if he wasn't at the station to see it play out. Lestrade's initial questioning was predictable; the solicitor was giving the suspect the courage to stone-wall. "You've got nowt on me, so get away with this." The Yorkshire accent and bluff manner seemed incongruous given the skinny grubby youth in front of him who was spouting it, but then the DI sprang his surprise.

"We know, by the way, about your connection to Charlie, and why you killed him. It's convenient, isn't it, that you were working together on the Belarus smuggling operation. So, I'm sure it helped your reputation as a tough guy to spread the story about it being over the money. Too bad it was actually over Charlie's sister that you were fighting. She'd agreed to keep quiet, but he was suspicious. Meant to scare him off, did you? Things got out of hand when he grabbed your knife and cut your arm? Now it would be really difficult for you if the truth got out on the street that you killed your partner after raping his sister."

Lestrade leaned back and folded his arms across his chest. He beamed. "So, go on, walk out the door of this station, and we'll let his family know. They'll get the truth out of her and then come after you with everything they've got. I wouldn't want to be in your shoes, once they know."

"Shit. How the chuffing heck do you know this stuff?"

"Doesn't matter how. Only thing that matters is that I do. So, what are you going to do about it?"

The ginger youth paled. He stuttered… "it was just a fr…fra…fratch; the maungey sis- we was both kaylied, but it got out a hand." Both Lestrade and the solicitor looked confused.

"Aw, you daft lot- ok- for southern wankers- Charlie and I got into a quarrel, cause his spoilt lil sis cried rape when it wasn't. She's a right looker, we'd both got rat-faced drunk and hit it off, but she got scared of him, so said it was forced on her. He took it the wrong ways, I got the knife out to protect myself and he sliced me up. Then we tussled and he fell on it."

"You stashed the knife in the window sash, didn't you?"

This made the young man's eyes nearly pop. "You couldn't ha seen tha' s'not possible" he whispered.

Lestrade just smirked, and then decided to take pity on the youth. "Well, you were looking at a murder charge, but if you were to confess to manslaughter and a knife assault on my constable, it might do. I could talk to the CPS and see if that's on." He decided to drop the other piece of evidence that Sherlock had handed him. "Of course, I'd be more willing to do that if you'd tell the truth about the whole drug smuggling operation, which I understand was Charlie's idea in the first place. If you could give us a few names, and if those names could lead to some convictions, I'm sure that would go down well in mitigation."

The youth looked at his brief, nodding vigorously. "I'm up for it. Just, please, don't tell her folks about the other thing, anything but that!"

oOo

"Robson's come round in the hospital. Should I take the photos around? " Sally handed her DI the fourth cup of coffee in as many hours, as the dawn came up, casting a weak light into the office. It had been a crazy night. But she was amazed to see him looking so cheerful, when he came out of the interrogation room.

"No need; let the poor guy rest. We've got our man and the evidence to convict."

Her eyes widened. "Did that tall skinny guy have anything to do with cracking this?"

Lestrade just beamed at her. "Everything. It's all sorted, thanks to him. The list of the dealers' names is on my desk and you can release the rest of them with a warning to stay away from drugs. Pass the dealers' files onto the Drugs Squad when they get in this morning. You and I have got paperwork to do on Rafe Stevens, who will cop to a manslaughter charge in exchange for evidence about the Belarus smuggling connection. It's a real result."

She frowned. "So the guy who you picked out from the line out is one of your informants?"

"No. Just someone who's helped out in the past, and I hope will be able to do so again in the future."

She looked sceptical. "A junkie? Drugs aren’t in our division. How can a junkie be helpful if he isn't an informant?"

Lestrade frowned at her. "Not everyone who  _looks_  the part is one, Donovan. Appearances can be deceiving. You should be more open-minded. That young man has proved amazingly helpful on three occasions in my career, and I have every intention that he will do so again in the future."


End file.
